Spirit Hawk
by Omniflyer
Summary: [One-shot] They say you're only young once. What do "they" know? (R&R!)


I read this storyline in an Archie comic a few months ago, and it's stuck in my head since then. It's gotten to the point where I just _have_ to adapt it (it's also one of the few times that you'll catch me writing Aqua-shipping... so enjoy it!). So without further ado... here goes.

**Disclaimer:** The plot of this story is _entirely_ based on the Archie Comics story "Spirit-Hawk." The principal characters and settings are _entirely _owned by Camelot. Solomon Graves is _entirely _owned by Archie Comics as well. The laser-gun-toting monkeys are mine, but I didn't put them in the story. Too bad!

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Months had passed since the Lighthouses were lit. Years, since the Golden Sun rose and the fearless group of eight had been able to move on with their lives. And Decades had passed since he finally laid down his sword to rest one last time, and became wed to the beautiful Mia and settled down in Lemuria.

With Alchemy unsealed, the fog-shrouded land became quite busy. Conservato, of course, was still getting involved in everything (whether or not it should involve him) and King Hydros would take risks with his career, and somehow never suffer the consequences. Such was the eternal and unchanging life of the Lemurians.

All except for one.

No one knew why it had happened, exactly. Kraden, before he died and the symptoms in the Lemurian were initially seen, suggested that the flux of Psynergy released by the beacons sped up the natural course of degradation in him. The long life of Picard was doomed to be short-lived.

Picard would never live to a ripe age of several hundred. He would die as a normal human, or Adept, roughly alongside his wife. He was constantly in a relative amount of pain, nothing that kept him from living, but nothing simple that he could ever forget. He was out of shape, not truly fat but certainly not lean and muscular, as once he was. His once flowing aqua locks were gone, replaced with nothing but a bald, shiny scalp. Life was frowning on Picard. He could do nothing to stop it, nothing to remove the illness that would take his life well before its time.

And it scared him.

It scared him, always whispering at him in the recesses of his mind, but he never tried to think about it. In middle life, he distracted himself by joining Lemuria's navy sailing the seas with other Lemurians once the ban on leaving was lifted. He and Mia lived happily when he was on leave, with a beautiful baby boy that grew into a fine young man, with their trademark blue hair. The illness in him had thankfully shown no signs in him. The boy should live healthily for many, many years.

But Picard still had to live now. So live, he would. And still, he would wonder if it was worth it.

A Saturday afternoon, just as Sol had passed midday. Picard was outside his modest house, raking leaves up off the ground, when his son, Mephi, along with one of his friends, came walking up the sidewalk. In Mephi's hand, unmistakable, was the Black Orb. The Black Orb... cracked.

"Mephi!" Picard exclaimed, dropping the rake immediately and walking over to stare at it. "What... what happened?" Mephi dropped his head in shame.

"I dunno, Dad, I'm sorry. I just let it out of my sight for a minute and... there it was," he mumbled. Picard sighed. Did all teenagers have such disrespect for relics of the past... however recent? A sharp pain in his wrist and deep in his stomach caused him to turn for the door.

"Never mind that right now, then," he mumbled. "I'd like you to finish the raking, now that you're here... my arthritis and illness are acting up again." Picard starting walking for the door, but Mephi called out to him.

"Aw, not right now, Dad... we can't miss this! There's a new experiment for Alchemy downtown starting in half an hour, and we've been waiting for weeks to catch it!" Mephi moaned. The pair of them quickly turned on their heels and bolted before his ailing father could catch up to them. Picard cursed in ancient Lemurian under his breath.

"When did we raise a little Kraden?" he mumbled to Mia once he got inside. Mia, though clearly older, was still beautiful in a sense, and had accepted age wonderfully. Not even her husband's illness had crushed her spirits, and though she felt bad that her healing techniques couldn't aid him, she was quite good at keeping him happy in all other respects.

"Sometime between the 'saving the world' and the 'annoying Conservato' aspects of our lives. And, speaking of which," she replied, while Picard groaned at the last part of the statement, "he's been calling around again. He wants to know what you did with those ancient Lemurian tomes." Picard groaned again.

"I don't know where those tomes are," he answered, visibly annoyed. Mia smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder comfortingly, leading him to chair to sit down.

"_I_ know that, and _you_ know that, but it _is_ Conservato we're talking about." Picard sighed, and nodded.

"Nothing I can do about that," he decided, resolving to his fate. "What about lunch? Is it ready yet?" Mia turned to the stove.

"Yes, it's... umm..." stalled, pulling food from the stove. "Uhh... it's... well done." Picard stood up and looked at the stove, despite the pangs in his stomach. The food was black and smoking. And it wasn't supposed to be.

"Whatever it is, it's about a quantum leap past extra crispy..."

"I'm sorry, honey," Mia said soothingly. "I don't have time to make more, though... there's a sale at Squabbles that I'm dying to catch. I'll just take a few dozen coins from your wallet..." Picard sighed lightly, hoping she wouldn't hear, but you don't just miss things like that after years of marriage. Mia kissed him on the cheek and hugged him on her way out, then moved outside to go shopping. He looked miserably at his wallet.

"Great," he muttered. "Just enough left to pay for dinner tonight at the navy reunion." He sighed heavily. "Time sure brings about many changes." He paused to glare at himself in a full length mirror, and put a hand on his bugling stomach and his balding head. "...none of them good."

- - - - -

That evening, Picard wandered around inside a downtown hotel, talking with his old shipmates. They were all there, and many of them were aging, like he was. Not all of the men in the Lemurian Navy were Lemurians... in fact, many were normal humans and Adepts who explored and took up residence in Lemuria once it was open to everyone. Picard found himself talking more with the normal humans who aged as he had; those who had greying beards, shiny heads and pillowed guts. Picard had suffered more, of course; he had even forgotten all of the Psynergy he once knew (yet another reason he was thankful to have Mia, as she remembered all of her techniques, especially the restorative ones).

One of his old shipmates, Carrey, laughed in joy at seeing him again. "Looks like you've taken aboard quite a bit of cargo, there, Picard," he chuckled, patting him on the stomach. Picard smiled as another, Steve, came up and rubbed his hand across Picard's head.

"And you've cleared the deck, topside, too," he grinned. Picard laughed and lightly hit him across the shoulder.

"All right, I admit it," he laughed. "I've gotten a little older... but so have the others." Carrey nodded sagely.

"As successful as most of us have been, many of us would give it all up just to be young again." Picard nodded, the wheels turning in his head. He gazed across the name-tags of his old shipmates (emphasis on _old_, Picard thought), realizing that the faces he associated with the names were no longer the young, youthful versions.

And what did he look like, now?

Picard left the reunion, wandering the side streets alone, taking the coastal shore back home. His mind was wandering more than his feet were. Was this what life was supposed to be? Why did it have to be like this? He had _saved the world_; why did _he_ have to suffer this illness? Doesn't he deserve to be happy and to live peacefully? Why wasn't life _fair_?

Just as he reached the area where bikers could lock up their bikes, a pair of thugs leapt out of the shadows. One grabbed his head and smashed it against the metal of the bike railings, crashing his skull and causing a large gash to open across his forehead. Picard dropped heavily to the ground. His stomach gave a sickening lunge, but it wasn't the attack; it was the illness, hitting him again at the _worst_ possible time. Picard tried to remember a spell- any spell!- but none would come to mind. "Give it up, old man!" a thug cried, rapping him over the head again.

"Yeah, give it up!" the other cried, brandishing a large wrench. He was just about to swing it at Picard when, out of nowhere, a man burst onto the scene, blocking the swing and throwing the thug away, dropping him heavily. With his back turned, the first thug threw himself at him.

"Look out!" Picard cried in warning.

"Thanks, mate," the man replied in a heavy sailor's accent, using the thug's momentum to throw him a fair distance away. "Now, _git_, yer scurvy pair o' bilge rats. _Git!_" It was only then, as the thugs limped away, that Picard could look at his saviour. He was youthful and bulging with muscles. He wore a red shirt that was ripped down the chest from the neck to expose his powerful torso, and wore blue sailing pants, with a green toque on his head and a thick red beard and full red hair on his head.

"They were really... doing a number on me," Picard panted as the stranger helped him to his feet. "Thank you."

"That was nothin'," he replied modestly. "You shoulda seen that brawl in Algiers back in '98." He stopped to study the name-tag Picard still hadn't removed. "Yer name-tag reads Picard Piers, LSS Salerno Bay. Then yer a swabbie, too!" he exclaimed.

"Er..." Picard stalled. "I... _was_. Are you a sailor, too?" he wondered. "What ship are you on?" The man grinned, boasting of his accomplishments.

"Yer lookin' at one of the best seamen to ever set foot upon the deck o' the Spirit-Hawk," he laughed.

"Spirit... Hawk?" Picard replied slowly.

"She's ridin' at anchor out in the bay! Ya can barely perceive the tip o' her masts in this fog," he answered, pointing out through the Lemurian fog to the waters, where the mast of a great ship could just only be seen. Picard looked out over the waters.

"Yes... yes, I can see it," Picard said, squinting against the shortsightedness of his accursed old age. "That life must agree with you... you're in great shape." The sailor laughed.

"You can be as fit as me if yer willin' to sign aboard the Spirit-Hawk; we be short one crew member. How'd ya like to take the voyage of a lifetime?" Picard stumbled over the words, but couldn't say anything. "It'll be a voyage like none other, that I promise, mate," he continued, guiding him toward the docks. "Y'see, we carry the most precious cargo of all."

"What's that?" Picard wondered.

"_Youth_," he replied, his eyes glaring into Picard's soul. "The near _instant_ ya set foot aboard the Spirit-Hawk, we'll be transformed into a strappin' young swab, free of old age and illness, and strong as an ox. Come see!" Picard chuckled, despite himself. Was it possible?

"Maybe I could... visit. Er... how old are you?" The sailor let out a hearty laugh.

"I'm just over a thousand years young!" he exclaimed. "Now we must step lively. There's a long boat waitin' 'neath the pier. We sail on the midnight tide!"

"A... thousand?" Picard's head swam... that was more than a Lemurian could ever hope to live... right? But it was so fast... "The midnight tide? This is all so crazy... let me think a mo-"

_Think?!_ a voice in his head cried. _What do you have to think about?! What is there for you to stay with? A cracked Black Orb? Chores you can't finish without pain? A son who has better things to do than stay and help you? Meals that aren't ready on time?_

_The pain of death, coming all too soon?_

_You're on death's door, Picard Piers. Death's... door..._

"I'm goin' for it!" Picard exclaimed.

"Come along... sailor."

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The two headed for the longboat, and they set sail under the shimmering fog and through the blanketing mists. Every so often, Picard would peer through the mists to make sure he knew where he was going. Soon, on the wind, a song was heard, chanted by a hundred sailors.

"_What do ya say to a brawlin' sailor, so ear-ly in the morn-in'."_

Eventually, the ship came into view. It was towering, and the wood appeared as good as new, as though the Spirit-Hawk was only a few days old. The longboat was raised up the side to allow them onto the ship. As soon as Picard stepped onto the deck, his stomach started flattening. Hair started filling out on his head, his wrists started feeling free of arthritis... and his stomach wasn't in pain anymore! The illness was... gone!

"I can't believe it! I'm... young!" Picard exclaimed. "My stomach's flat, my hair's back and... my illness is gone! This is so... so... unbelievable!" The red-haired soldier nodded and then signaled to the crew to start getting underway.

"We're fixin' to get underway... the tide's runnin' out and we're goin' out with it," he said. "Out to the deepest blue waters ye've ever seen... where the flyin' fish and dolphins play." Picard stretched and laughed.

"Wonderful! Now... what about liberty? Shore leave?" The sailor grinned at him, flashing perfectly straight, white teeth.

"Aye. Ya get to go ashore most regular..."

"Good," Picard interrupted.

"...every hundred years."

Picard stopped in his tracks. Every hundred years? But... that would mean...

"E...every hundred years?" he stammered.

"Aye... Ye'll find things have changed a mite every time ya go ashore."

_Changed._ Picard thought miserably. _The next time I could go ashore, Mia and maybe even Mephi would be long gone... but Conservato will still be around..._ Picard leaned over the rail of the Spirit-Hawk. Was it really worth it? Could he give everything up? He'd live forever!

What is the cost of eternal life?

"Y'see that bridge, Picard?" the sailor called out to him, leaning over the rail as well and letting any hair that wasn't pinned down by his hat flap in the wind. "Once you go under that, you're with us forever."

"...forever?" Picard stumbled, looking longingly back at the mainland through the thickening fog. "I never did get your name," he realized. The sailor grinned at him, leaning in such a way that his youthful body rippled perfectly.

"Graves. Solomon Graves."

"Thank you for your help, Solomon Graves," Picard said, shaking his hand. "But I'm afraid I just can't go with you." And with that, he dove over the rail of the ship, swimming toward the mainland, his new, youthful body easily able to handle the stress of movement. His ears were filled with the sounds of the crew, chanting, _What do you say to a brawlin' sailor..._

Distracted, Picard scarcely noticed the tide starting to tug at him. Thankfully, his new body was young enough and strong enough that he was able to fight it, and... he could even remember the Psynergy he'd forgotten! He called up his mastery of the water, so long ago buried in the deep niches of his mind, to force it to push him toward the shore. All the while, the chanting continued. _So early in the mornin'..._

Picard heaved himself up on a jetty, using the full strength of the body he was growing to love more and more by the minute. "Couldn't have done this without you," he mumbled, as though speaking to his body itself. "_Ow!_" he cried, and with a resonating _snap_, his body suddenly reverted to what he'd gotten used to, bald, fat, arthritis-ridden and, worst of all, disease-plagued. Sore and tired, he stood soaking wet on the jetty, looking out over the ocean, where the Spirit-Hawk was now well out of sight. The only marker it left was a sound on the wind.

_What do you say to a brawlin' sailor, so early in the mornin'..._

- - - - -

"_Augh!_" Mia cried, seeing her husband wet, bruised and somewhat bloody as he entered the back door into the kitchen. "What in... _Mercury!_" She strode over quickly and cast Ply to remove the injuries. "You had an accident?" Picard shook his head.

"More like a... revelation, Mia," Picard answered hugging Mia warmly. "Thanks." Mia smiled at him.

"Some reunion... you old sailors, acting like kids, I guess," she replied. Picard grinned, but said nothing. This adventure would be his to safeguard. "Anyway, here; I made you your favourite sandwich, turkey and bacon." She sat him at the table and put the sandwich in front of him, which he gratefully took. "I sent a messenger to King Hydros, and he said his Alchemists could repair the Black Orb, by the way. Oh, and we got a messenger from Conservato saying that _he_ misplaced the tomes." Picard chuckled and shook his head.

"Well, what do you know!" he grinned.

"_And_ after you left," Mia added, a grin on her face as well, "Mephi came back and raked up all the leaves, I don't know if you noticed or not..."

"I'm astonished!" Picard said, amazed and eyes wide. He finished his meal, his mind quietly working. When he finished, he followed Mia up the stairs, where she slowed to take his hand the rest of the way up.

"Believe me," she said warmly, "I'm going to all future ship reunions with you for the next hundred years." Picard's face fell.

_Hundred years?_ he thought aloud. What if it had taken that long for _him_ to see _her_ again? What if he didn't leave?

"Trust me, Mia... this is the only reunion for me. Right here..." he said quietly, coming up the steps and stopping at Mephi's open door, where they could see him sound asleep. "...now."

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After several weeks of quietly searching, and unbeknownst to his family, Picard finally came across a specific tombstone in the Royal Navy graveyard. Inscribed on it was

_Graves, Solomon_

_1045 - 1077_

_Able Seaman_

_Died in Defense at Liberty_

...but still he wonders.

And sleep does not come easy on the nights when there's a sea breeze in his window, for Picard imagines he can hear the sea chanteys of sailors.

We can't wind up this yarn without saying that there's no sure cure for arthritis, for disease or illness or pain. But holding his wife's hand at night as he struggles to sleep makes him realize one thing.

Love helps.

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And that's that! The Spirit-Hawk has set sail. Like I said, that's right out of an Archie Comic, I admit that fully, I just wanted to share the story (and try my hand at Adaptations). So, please review and tell me if you liked it or not!


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